


My One and Only

by Actually_Felicity_Smoak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Sherlock Holmes on the Asexuality Spectrum, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Felicity_Smoak/pseuds/Actually_Felicity_Smoak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks there's no one Sherlock cares enough to bother trying to protect.<br/>Sherlock thinks no one could possibly like him.</p><p>Each of them believes that the other doesn't care for him. But each of them, "knowing" that his affection is not returned, would sacrifice everything unhesitatingly for the other. </p><p>And if you don't think that's love, then I think you're confused about what love means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My One and Only

When Sherlock was 9, a woman admonished him that he'd never "get a nice girl" if he kept dissecting frogs by the creek. He stared at her blankly, trying to figure out by what data she had surmised that he was more interested in girls than in frogs. 

When Sherlock was 14, a porn magazine was passed around by his classmates. Sherlock didn't see the point.

When Sherlock was 15, a classmate asked if he was gay. Sherlock had to ask whether they meant "jolly" or "homosexual". Then, contemplating it further, he acknowledged that it didn't matter, since the answer was 'no' in either case. He was neither happy nor aroused by male anatomy. 

It was a relief, in some ways, to come across the word "asexual" in his psychological research. His lack of sexual attraction had never bothered him, but he had sometimes wondered whether it _ought_ to have. Now he could put that question to rest, and focus on what he cared about. 

And yet ... there was the soulmark. Not everyone had one -- the girls at school got quite twittery about anyone who did. A tattoo, on the back of the wrist, that allegedly described your soulmate's best characteristic. Some people went so far as to acquire a tattoo in that location, imitating the soulmark style, to indicate to prospective mates what their strongest criterion was. 

Sherlock had been born with his -- a twisting script across his left wrist that spelled out "Loyal". According to the lore, then, there was someone out there -- someone supremely loyal -- who was the perfect match for Sherlock. Someone who _would_ make his heart beat faster, and his palms sweat. Apparently they would lock eyes, and fall instantly in love, and once they'd met, they would be able to take pain from one another via some kind of magical empathic healing. 

Except Sherlock was asexual, and loyalty was hardly a unique identifier, and pain is not a characteristic that can be measured. Consider the alternative hypothesis: the so-called "soulmark" is a random occurrence, and the rest of the lore was wishful thinking filling in gaps in overly-vague descriptions, like astrology. Balance of probability. 

Sherlock found a style of clothing that allowed him to keep his wrists covered without provoking remark. 

\---------------------------------------

John had done the maths once. Even if you had a soulmark, the odds of meeting your soulmate were worse than one in ten thousand. And it wasn't like "Brilliant" was going to help him track someone down. Especially since John was already attracted to smart women. 

He daydreamed, he fantasized, and then he got on with his life. There's no point waiting for a soulmate before you start living. 

But, oh, sometimes he wished he could choose a soulmate! Bending over the wounded in a field surgery tent in Afghanistan, he would have done anything to be able to take the pain from his patients. He tried, sometimes, in a desperate hope that _this one_ he would be able to ease their suffering. 

It never worked. The odds were against it, after all. And there was no medical discussion of how the "taking pain" soulmate mechanic was supposed to work. All John could do was close his eyes and beg a higher power -- any that might be listening -- to take the patient's pain and give it to John Watson.

It never worked.

He never stopped trying. 

\------------------------------------------------

John had been living in 221B for about a month when he started to worry about the condition of his heart. He'd never worried about it before. He was in fantastic physical condition even before the Army, and he was careful with his diet. Now that he could run again -- and was getting all kinds of exercise, chasing after Sherlock -- he ought to be feeling better. And he was, except for an intermittent ache in his chest. 

John was staring into the fire, trying to decide whether he should call a doctor, when a small sigh from Sherlock made him look up. Sherlock was gazing into the fire as well, and John caught the sadness in his eyes. 

They'd only known each other a few weeks, but John was starting to get a glimpse of the pain Sherlock held. What John saw as brilliance, others saw as arrogance. What John saw as extraordinary, others saw as showing off. _Yes, OK, he doesn't express himself well, but it doesn't help him when you mock him and push him away for it._ Sherlock felt himself to be alone and friendless, and John's heart ached whenever he saw Sherlock's unguarded expression. 

Literally, apparently -- John put his hand to his sternum, trying to trace the source of the pain that appeared apparently at random. 

_Definitely going to get an ECG tomorrow._

\--------------------------------------------------------

If anyone had asked Sherlock, he wouldn't have said he was in pain. If pressed, he would have acknowledged that there was an equal probability that he was in constant pain; neurological adaptation and all that. But -- he would have argued -- the point of pain is to notify you of impending damage. If he was in constant pain, and yet did not lose functionality, then the pain was clearly unnecessary for optimal performance, and therefore not feeling it was to his advantage. 

No one ever asked, so the topic never came up. But after he and John moved into 221B, Sherlock occasionally noticed changes in his physiology. He had an easier time breathing, and his resting heart rate dropped 3 bpm. His posture was better, too: he'd always stood with his shoulders hunched in, as if prepared to ward off a projectile or a fist, and now he stood up straighter. 

There were several environmental factors that could cause it: molds, pollens, cleaning chemicals, and so on. He could have tracked them down and tested them, had he so chosen, but that wasn't an interesting problem. And with John's blog bringing them cases, there were _so many_ interesting problems...

\--------------------------------------------------------

For two years, John worked with every specialist he could find in the NHS. When cardiologists found nothing, he was checked for asthma, for restless limb, for neurological damage. 

When Sherlock died, the pain in his chest became constant. And with time, and therapy, John learned to recognize it as grief. It had never been a physical pain, though John had always experienced it that way. It was a constriction in his lungs, a collapsing under the sternum. A tightness in his shoulders as he hunched over, protecting his heart. A clenching in his stomach.

What he couldn't explain is why he had been grieving for 2 years. His therapist told him it had been a manifestation of PTSD. Mycroft Holmes told him he missed the battlefield. Whatever the cause, John learned to face his pain, and his grief, and gradually they subsided. And if sometimes, when he thought of Sherlock, his breath caught and his chest ached, well, that was only to be expected. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock sat in the desert, rubbing his soulmark. 

He'd spent nearly two years on this project. What did he have to show for it? The gratitude of a country he didn't identify with, the condescending praise of a brother he'd always resented .. and John Watson's safety. 

For a while, he could justify it as fun. It had been, to start with. But it had turned tedious more than a year ago, and Sherlock -- for the first time in his life -- had continued working even when he got bored. 

Why?

He'd tried the self-interest hypothesis, and couldn't make it fit the data. If he was concerned for his own safety, he ought to have rejected missions that increased his risk, and yet he completed every mission he and Mycroft could devise.

He'd tried the patriotism hypothesis, but he couldn't find a scrap of English loyalty within himself. 

In desperation, he'd taken to examining his emotions. Love certainly caused people to behave irrationally. Had that somehow happened to him?

He tested methodically. Would he stop if it left Mycroft at risk? Yes, certainly; Mycroft could take care of himself. Would he stop if it left Lestrade at risk. Why not? Scotland Yard signed up for risk. Would he stop if it left Mrs. Hudson at risk? He wasn't sure. He could almost talk himself into believing he would. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Irene... maybe. Maybe.

But no matter how hard he tried, he could never imagine himself stopping as long as there was any possibility that John Watson was in danger. 

Was that love? It didn't seem to match the descriptions he'd been given. It certainly wasn't sexual; he remained as dispassionate about John's anatomy as he had anyone else's. It didn't seem to be romantic. His heart rate didn't go up when he thought of John. He had no urges to offer bouquets, and he saw no advantage to eating dinner by candlelight when electricity was both accessible and affordable. 

"Caring is not an advantage" Mycroft said. But it was caring -- he couldn't deny that he cared -- that had driven him through months of tedious infiltration, disguise, torture, assassination, and espionage. Love, in this case, seemed to be a chemical defect found in the winning side ...

And yet, Sherlock thought defiantly, why _shouldn't_ he value John's life above his own? It hadn't _been_ much of a life, to be honest, until John showed up. He hadn't been actively suicidal since his adolescence, when he'd learned to stop feeling, but he'd never exactly been passionate about life. When things got too bad, he took drugs, and the rest of the time he muddled along, not hoping for death, exactly, but not really looking forward to life, either. 

The decision had been made, Sherlock realized, when he'd decided to fake his own death. Why not just die? It would have solved the problem just as well. He'd already beat Moriarty. He would never find an opponent as entertaining as that, not if he lived for a hundred years. Why not just die, at the top of his game, at the peak of his accomplishments?

It only made sense if he had something to live for. Something other than the drugs and the cases. 

And he had. From the moment John Watson, in the back of a cab, had listened to Sherlock's deductions and said "That's amazing."

John Watson made him feel valued. John Watson made him feel special. John made him feel stronger, and smarter, and safer.

John Watson made him happy. And why shouldn't a man seek to preserve the things that make him happy? It might not be sex, and it might not be romance, but Sherlock Holmes would call it love, and damned to anyone who thought it needed more.

Sherlock rubbed his wrist, staring at moonlit dunes. One more mission, and then he could go home...

\-----------------------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> I am not opposed to romantic!Johnlock, or sexual!Johnlock. I am in favor of increasing queer representation in TV. 
> 
> But what I AM opposed to is the idea that platonic!Johnlock is less than the other types, or that their love is less real, or less important, if it's not romantic or sexual. Johnlock is the best love story in the modern world, whether or not they ever hook up, and increasing asexual representation is also important.


End file.
